Page 267 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“But you only ever see Mags with Blythe or with Aren?” Ansel asked.

“There are no threads with just one or the other.”

“Interesting,” he murmured, thumb drifting over the sticky adhesive remnants on his bottle.

“And you two have got to give them space this week,” Ally added, color rising in her cheeks. “Trust me, I don’t want to know it either, but they’re going to be physical. I love Aren, but if the man could shield me out a little, that’d be really nice.”

“You’re one to talk,” Alec jabbed.

She flipped him off without hesitation.

“Why do you think we’re out of the house?” Ansel said, smirking.

Lana buried her face in his shoulder. “Think three hours is enough to let them burn it off? I miss my bed.”

“I dunno,” Alec said. “The guy’s got centuries of blue balls.”

“Oh, gross,” Ally muttered, wrinkling her nose.

“Tell me he’s wrong,” I added, laughing as Alec shot me finger guns.

“You think you’ll be able to pick up Magnolia’s threads in person?” Lana asked, mercifully redirecting the train wreck.

“Maybe? At this point, your guess is as good as mine.”

“Only one way to find out,” Alec said, shrugging.

“One week,” Ally agreed. “We reconvene in Santa Bloom in one week.”

FORTY-NINE

RANK

FREYA

“So?” Cyrus asked the next day, pushing off the railing as I came down the front steps of the Oracle’s house.

“So?” I echoed, brow raised.

He rolled his eyes and shoved his hands in his pocket as he released the most aggrieved sigh. “I got my confirmation. You?”

Translation: he was, in fact, the Harbinger of Glory, which came with a power-up he absolutely did not need and a direct line to Poe whenever he felt like dialing in.

“I got what I needed,” I said, nodding. Understatement of the year. I wasn’t Alvara-level or anything, but I had over twice the power Reagan did. Now I just had to figure out how to use it before it stopped mattering.

Pushing Calypso and Carr’s power back into them had taken so much focus I broke into a cold sweat. And I still botched it. Carrson kept shooting daggers at me while his teeth chattered from the ice in his veins, and Calypso kept trying not to scratch her skin off from the fire under hers.

Honestly? Kind of hilarious. I felt a little bad for Cali—she’d been unnecessarily kind. Teenage me should’ve chilled on resenting her just for being popular.

My phone buzzed against my hip. I pulled it out and winced when I saw the screen: Mom.

Guilt had been riding shotgun for days now—maybe from nearly dying and being yanked back to life by the son of the woman who killed me—but who could say? Either way, I hadn’t checked in with the mortals who raised me. In one year, their eldest son had dropped off the grid, bailing on an engagement we’d all been invested in. Then their middle child climbed in bed with the now-ex-fiancé. And their youngest kid—hi, that’s me—got swept off to a “specialty trade school.”

Ascension made all of it feel more like hallucinations than memories. And if August felt the same…that left them what? Just down two kids?

I swallowed hard, dragged in a breath, and answered the call—fully aware Cyrus was watching me like I was a new species. The man analyzed everything. It was infuriating.

“Hey, Mom!”